


Not In My Contract

by Rensong



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Awesome Pepper, Awesome Pepper Potts, BAMF Pepper, BAMF Pepper Potts, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Jarvis is the best, Team, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:50:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rensong/pseuds/Rensong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ms. Potts, it would seem our erstwhile heroes have gotten themselves into a predicament.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not In My Contract

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired entirely by images of the Iron Man 3 display at last year's Comic Con, in which I noticed that one set of armor had decidedly feminine curves. That it is not all that dissimilar to a certain plot device that was revealed in the latest (and last) Iron Man 3 tailor is total coincidence, as I had written most of it months before that trailer even came out. It was kind of nice to have my suspicions verified, though. :)
> 
> What finally inspired me to POST this story, however, when I hadn't initially planned to do so was the decided lack of stories under the "BAMF Pepper" and "Awesome Pepper" tags. All you authors out there who are better writers than I am should really get on that. Go on, I'll wait. ::wavy shoo-away hands::
> 
> Lastly, if there is plot, it was entirely unintentional, I just wanted to see Pepper being awesome.

It is very late on a Wednesday night when the phone rings, which isn't uncommon in and of itself. One thing that hasn't changed in the switch-over from Pepper Potts: Tony Stark's Personal Assistant, to Virginia Potts: CEO of Stark Industries, is the calls at odd hours of the day and night. It's even kind of comforting, because as CEO, late-night calls tend to be blissfully mundane things like spending reports and flight confirmations and conference calls with Powerful People on the other side of the planet. The subject matter may be a bit dull, true, but after twelve years of playing nursemaid to a billionaire playboy philanthropist with narcissistic tendencies... well, she'll take dull. One of the true joys of finally giving in to said billionaire playboy philantropists' charms is that he is a lot easier to keep track of when they share the same bed.

Oh, there's still emergency calls on the nights he _isn't_ in bed with her, calls when his voice is rough with smoke inhalation or breathless with cracked ribs, and those calls still make her heart pound and her hands tremble and her own breath come short at the memory of that one call she never answered ( _fucking aliens_ , and if she ever meets Loki face to face, he is going to _burn_ ), but she takes comfort in the fact that those kind of calls are fewer and farther between, and that now at least she isn't the only one he has to call for help.

The phone ringing in the middle of the night and Nick Fury himself being on the other end of the line, though – that, on the other hand, is a bit more uncommon. And it is usually never, ever good news when it does.

“Ms. Potts, it would seem our erstwhile heroes have gotten themselves into a predicament.”

“Why am I not surprised,” she sighs, rubbing her temple and not at all vindicated when her assumptions are proven true. Apparently she’s still a babysitter, except now there are six of them. 

"Aside from the fact that Tony probably led the way, why are you calling me, sir?” she continues tiredly. “What little control I have over his actions is shaky at best – something you no doubt observed in Spain – and even then, the odds of it ending in multiple explosions and tens of thousands of dollars in property damage is extremely high.”

“I’m not calling you to rein him in again, Ms. Potts,” Fury replies, voice garrote-sharp and just as impossible to throw off. “I’m asking you to help him – and the rest of the team – out.”

She straightens in her chair, like a puppet when all the strings are tightened. “And how, sir,” she asks suspiciously, “do you expect me to do that?”

“It has come to my knowledge that among the toys and trinkets that Stark has thrown together over the years is a set of Iron Man Armor in your size, and my sources have informed me that you have a basic understanding of its use.”

If she were to maintain her puppet metaphor, this would be when the aforementioned strings were cut all at once, and her head makes a dull thunk as it hits her desk. “And might I ask how you became so well informed, Director Fury?” she asks the wood-grain whirling in front of her nose – quite the pretty effect, really, especially up close; kind of a shimmery gold when the light hits it right.

“Classified.”

_Fuck you, Natasha._

"The Avengers need air support, Ms. Potts,” he continues before she has a chance voice the expletive out loud, though she does give it a few more colorful twists in her head. “Something highly maneuverable that can defend itself and that can make split second decisions. In short, we need a rescue, and right now you’re the only one available to provide it.”

Well, hell.

“Okay,” she agrees, taking a deep breath and sitting upright again, promising herself that she’ll give him a long, vicious ream out later, after Tony and the rest of the Avengers are safe. “Okay, tell me where and what to expect.”

…

“Jarvis,” she asks twenty minutes later, standing among the flurry of robots and mechanicals securing her into the armor she had really, really hoped she would never have to wear, “what the hell am I doing?”

“Going to save the damsel in distress, Ms. Potts, as a knight is apt to do on occasion,” he replies promptly. “I am only surprised he didn’t require it sooner.”

That gets a small chuckle at least. “Am I leaving anyone hanging?”

“No one I wasn’t able to reschedule. Your weekly meeting with the military liaison, but Col. Rhodes was quite understanding when I mentioned the situation. He only expressed very minor displeasure at a small loss of funds – apparently he and Sir had a $100 dollar wager going as to whether or not you would ever make use of the armor that he had created with you in mind.”

In other words, pretty much par for the course for those two. At least Rhodey had voted on her side. “Anyone else?”

“A few new product presentations and your twice-weekly meeting with the board of directors, but I was able to reschedule the demonstrations for tomorrow morning and the board meeting has now been pushed to 3 pm. Your Thursday morning is clear, Ms. Potts.”

“Fantastic,” she replies, not even bothering to mask the sarcasm. “Let’s go fight some dragons.”

…

And so she does – with style, explosions, and no shortage of displaced anger. She blows the bastards to kingdom come and just barely restrains herself from doing the same to her beau. Even so, she may have gotten a little loose with the targeting system when she sent a spurt of mini missiles at one of the enemy drones, and a few may have accidentally winged Iron Man’s left arm, but it was purely a friendly fire incident and not intentional at all. Jarvis will back her up on this.

“Next time your ass needs saving, I’m just going to leave you to find your own way out,” she yells at him, face-plate up and the dust still settling around them, the few remaining enemy agents easily contained (mostly by the Hulk sitting on them, though a few also wield several strategically placed arrows pinning them to the ground). “I am the CEO of a multimillion dollar company, Tony. I don’t have time to fly around in a computerized metal suit coming to the rescue when the rescuers need rescuing!”

“But look at what we got you!” he whines, gesturing with his slightly scorched left arm at figure in grimy white scrubs standing quietly next to Captain America. Actually now that she’s paying attention, it looks more like he’s ready to pass out (she refuses to think ‘swoon’, and gives her inner Tony-voice a kick for good measure) into Steve’s star-spangled arms.

“Phil! You’re alive!” she exclaims in recognition, swooping in to gather the miraculously revived agent into a hug.

“Chest… injury….” He gasps breathlessly. “can’t… breathe….” She releases him quickly and he sucks in a huge breath of air, one hand pressed against the still healing wound and the other braced against her shoulder for balance.

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “Forgot about the strength enhancement that comes with the suit. Anything broken?”

“Nothing that wasn’t already, Virginia,” Coulson replies with a smile. “It’s good to see you, too.”

She – gently – makes sure he is steady on his feet before turning back to the object of her quickly increasing ire. “What the hell?!” she demands of Tony, shoving him hard enough that he skids about ten feet before stopping. 

Even wobbling and with his arms pin wheeling for balance, he’s quick to jump to his own defense. “I can explain, Pep – see, Fury lied to us and told us Coulson was dead except he was really only just in a major coma…”

She doesn’t let him get a word in, though, just talks over and around him because “What the hell, Tony?! You couldn’t tell me there was a reason you were going off all half-cocked…”

“… and they were keeping him stashed away in a corner of the medical wing that none of us knew about…”

“… to the other side of the freaking continent with no notice what so ever…”

“… only SHIELD security sucks because they don’t trust me to upgrade it…”

“… leaving me to cover for you, by the way, because all of SHIELD was up in arms, too, so I suddenly had to explain the disappearance…”

“… and even if we didn’t know, some SHIELD lackey did and they went and got themselves captured…”

… of not just you, but the whole of the Avengers because apparently being Iron Man’s girlfriend means I am not only your babysitter, but the rest of the team's as well…”

“… so this like ninja black-ops team was able to just waltz right in to what was supposed to be one of the most secure facilities in the world…

“…which meant I had to dodge even more press than usual, and then I get this call from Fury…”

“… and grab a comatose Coulson and bring him here to use as leverage against us, and of course, because we’re kind of awesome ourselves…”

“…telling me that you guys were stuck and that they had already sent in the best of the best, but it didn’t work and you were outgunned and outnumbered…”

“… Fury had to come to us with his hat in his hands and admit it was all a ploy and that Coulson was alive, but he had been kidnapped…”

“… and there was no one else who even had a snowballs chance in Hell of getting to you all in time…”

“… and only the Avengers Initiative had a chance of getting him out! We had to come, okay!”

“… so the only person left to save your ass was me?! What the hell, Tony! This is not okay!”

The rest of the team looks on in mild distress as they argue, six heads bobbing back and forth between the two of them like they were watching a ping-pong match. Then they all stand around in awkward silence breathing at each other after the outbursts, before Tony – entirely incapable of keeping his mouth shut, ever – finally breaks it with “By the way, did I mention how smoking hot you were blowing up all those ninja black-ops assassins? I don’t think I have ever been quite so turned on in my life, and that’s saying something.”

She doesn’t punch him.

She does ball her fists – they both make a rather satisfying creaking-metal sound, and she takes some small pleasure in seeing Tony taking one step back, out of her armor-enhanced swipe range – and turns to address the rest of the team instead.

“Coulson, I’m really glad you’re okay. Steve, if you’re ever in a position where you think an extra set of hands on the ground and/or eyes in the sky might be the turning point of a bad situation, I will do my best to offer what assistance I can. Natasha, whatever Fury is paying you to squeal on us, I can offer you double. Mr. Barton, Hulk, Thor – always a pleasure. Tony, no sex for you for a month.”

“But—“

Before he even manages to articulate the ‘t’, she lifts her hand and repulse him into a sufficiently thorny looking hedge. Then she turns and takes off without a second glance.

“What’s the time, Jarvis,” she asks tiredly, wondering if she might be able to let Jarvis take the reins and catch a nap on the way back to New York.

“A few minutes before 11 in the morning, Eastern Standard Time.”

“Any chance you can get me home in three hours?”

“I can do better than three hours. I can have you settled on top of the Avengers Tower in two hours, fifteen minutes, Ms. Potts,” he replies warmly.

“You’re the best, Jarvis.”


End file.
